


The Business

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thieves, M/M, Rivals to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-05 23:16:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12804516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Nyx had taken his little family to Altissia for one reason, and now they need to find a way to recoup their losses. None of them had expected the Caelum heir to take an interest in their work.





	1. Chapter 1

The Ring of the Lucii was an ancient and powerful artifact of rare, unimaginable power. It had survived the rise and fall of its kingdom, the countless deaths of its bearers and enemies. And had lasted through the ages where the old kingdoms and dynasty had fallen to dust around it. At least that was what the little placard read, next to the little pedestal the Ring had been so carefully displayed upon; angled in a way to catch the light in its strange crystal adornment, though the band was still as dark as volcanic stone. The timeline displayed on the tapestry behind the exhibit detailed the history of the Ring— its passing between kings until it was lost and recovered after the Last King of Lucis vanished and the ancient tombs excavated from the bones of the fallen kingdom. 

It was on display, in all its ancient glory, for a handful of weeks in a state museum in Altissia. Gifted to the exhibit by the Niflheim keepers from the Imperial Historic Commission, complete with timeline and analysis and all the stories of long-dead kings and queens and their relics. It was right there, under the watchful eye of the Altissian dedication to the history of Eos, and ripe for the taking.

“I’m not putting it on.”

Nyx thought it was ugly, all things considered. In a fairly modern sense of the whole thing. It was shiny. And small. And there were probably a great many private collectors who would be willing to pay a decent fortune for it to suddenly be in their own private collections. 

All of which were important points. 

“You’re putting it on.”

“I’m not.”

Crowe co-operating was also a very important part of this plan. An almost integral part of the plan when they came up with it. 

“We talked about this—”

“Did you read what it said?” Crowe gestured to one of the other displays— the elaborate tapestries and painting of the Ring’s power consuming the unworthy and usurpers who had dared to try wearing it. “It sets people on fire, Nyx. I’m not wearing it.”

“Those are just—”

An attendant to the exhibit stepped up to them— a polite, diplomatic smile on his features— a collection of pamphlets for the exhibit in hand. When he spoke, it was with a Tenebrean accent, and Nyx pegged him for some history student at the Accordo university, working the summer months away between semesters in an fitted uniform. “Is there anything I can help with? To better your understanding of the history of the Ring?”

Nyx glanced at his phone, praying for the final stages of the plan to click into place; “No, that’s fine. We’re good.”

The young man nodded and stepped back to bother another tourist moving around the Ring for a better look. He seemed to become far more animated when speaking about the history of the trinket, eagerly showing the details outlined in the pamphlet to the new tourist who had decided to give the pitch a try. With a few exceptions, the crowd moved easily in a loose circle through one door and out another, to where the next lost gem of the ancient Lucian kingdom was on display. To where the next piece of shiny or bit of scrap metal could be hoisted up as some great rediscovery of the history long buried under lost monarchs and lost wars. 

“Just slip it on, Crowe.”

“Fire, Nyx. It sets people on fire.”

“It doesn’t.” Nyx resisted the urge to raise the conversation above the whisper they had it at; resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose to ward off the growing headache. “It’s a superstition.”

“Then you wear it.”

“I’m not wearing the fucking—”

The alarms were their cue. 

It had been planned for weeks. Pelna’s work on the replica was flawless, down to the same weight and clarity in the crystal accent. There might be some details off, but it would take an expert more than just a passing glance to identify the forgery. Nyx planned to have the trinket fenced by then. By the time anyone thought to take that second look, and the third, and the fourth that would be needed to see through Pelna’s skills. And he would have fucked off back to the islands with all the money he needed to settle down. To get that bar up and running and his sister in school. The switch was fast— a quick movement in the chaos of the crowds moving around them. A quick lift of Crowe’s hand over the pedestal in the rush to evacuate with the tourists crowding around them. He had trusted Pelna to knock out the cameras; Libertus to control the movement of the crowd, to pull the alarms and start the distraction they’d need. 

Crowe refusing to put the damned thing on was not part of the plan. 

Nyx palmed the Ring, and stepped back to let the chaos pass. The perfect picture of a confused tourist overwhelmed by the alarms shattering the hushed quiet of the exhibit hall. 

The same eager attendant stepped before them, sharp eyes on them as he indicated the doorway, a snap to his tone as he hurried worried tourists along. “This way, please. I’m certain it’s a false alarm, but we mustn’t take chances.”

Crowe smiled sweetly at the young man, pulling the on chaos around her like a new mask, a new persona tailored to the dimplomatic, protective instincts in the guide trying to hurry them along. Nyx could love the way she could pout and bat her eyes and look like the picture of innocence, when she wasn’t beating the shit out of him for saying so. But the distraction worked, and Nyx stepped back to the wall enough to pry the edge of the window open— any alarms lost to the ringing cacophony already echoing through the emptying room— and slipped the Ring through the edge. It was a risk, but the young attendant was watching them, and Nyx wasn’t willing to let some kid from the local school bring him in from the best heist he’s ever planned. 

At worst, the Ring would land in the canal, lost to the currents and stone and ruins beneath the strange city. At best it would get caught on the stonework and end up in a gutter, the victim of the artists of Altissia who never seemed to know when to stop. The collection later would be rough, but he would trawl the canals of Altissia himself, if he had to. It wouldn’t be the first time he did something as ridiculous as brave the currents of Altissia to regain a prize. 

“Come on, sweetie,” he said, an arm moving to pull Crowe close. He moved her enough to steal a glance out the window, to try to spot where the Ring had landed. “Better do what he says.”

It wasn’t until they were in the next room down, waiting at the security checkpoint that he caught sight of the Ring outside where it had fallen. He could make out the two young men in the street, just a floor below, paused and laughing in the alleyway. A blond held out his cup of ice cream to his friend, the Ring in a small crater of dessert and toppings until it was delicately picked up by the dark-haired young man with a napkin. Nyx could see them, walking as if they had expected the sudden appearance of ancient royal jewellery in their treat. 

“Shit.”

By the way the two men looked up to the windows of the museum, a chain already in hand to put the Ring on, Nyx was definitely certain that they had expected the Ring’s appearance in the cup of ice cream. 

Hunting down people in this Six-forsaken city was far more difficult than just finding a stolen ring.

He watched from the wide and bright arched windows— helpless as he was herded towards the delay of the checkpoints— as the two thieves disappeared into the crowd of the plaza. The guide who had ushered them through the chaos directed them towards the gift shop— towards the marketable exit to the exhibit, still crowded as people paused to take a second look at the toys and trinkets commemorating the artifacts of Old Lucis, despite the alarms.

His phone was in hand before he had even touched the street again, boots heavy on the intricate stone steps as he tried to search for the thieves without raising further alarm. With Crowe a step behind and looking for Libertus, Nyx beelined for the rendezvous point across from the statue of Leviathan— just out of range of the crowds snapping pictures, where it wouldn’t be unusual to see a man on his phone. “Pelna, I need eyes on the plaza.”

_“The plaza? Are you being followed? Is Crowe—”_

“No, there’s two kids. Dark hair and light hair, about early twenties at most. Dark clothes, lots of skull motifs.”

_“Nyx—”_

“Nyx,” Crowe was already tossing her civilian clothes, picking through the stash in Libertus’ cart as the man changed from his own stolen outfit as a maintenance worker; “what’s going on?”

“Find them, Pelna.”

 _“I need more to go on, Nyx.”_

“Find them. They have the Ring.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Maagho was the go-to in the underbelly of Altissia. Surrounded by floating markets, its warmly lit decks and tables sheltered from the prying eyes of the plazas and tourists to afford nobility and scoundrel alike a place to legitimise their businesses best left out of public view. The lanterns creating the sort of permanent sense of dusk and intimacy beneath the old stone buildings braced above that the more friendly plazas and restaurants could only ever hope to achieve. The bistro across the canal the only set of prying eyes that could make it between the arches of the supports, too far away and with a different set of hours to intrude much on the little bar’s privacy. Not that it was quiet; the Maagho was never a quiet place, despite the wall of protective merchants guiding the traffic to where it could be monitored. Not that Nyx had much experience with the place— he had brought his little family to Altissia to follow the Nif exhibit; drawn, like others, to the challenges of stealing stolen treasures from the Empire. He had been in contact with the owner of the Maagho only briefly in person, operating on the idea that he was the best fence in Eos and cutting a deal to move the Ring of Lucii from Altissia to Galahd cleanly and quietly. 

But it doubled as a bar, and that was all Nyx was interested in right now. 

The kids from the alleyway had not been found. Pelna had a search going for them, but they had blacked out most of the cameras themselves when preparing for the heist. Crowe had done her act, looking for the boys based on Nyx’s descriptions, but even the considerable ground that she could cover was limited by the labyrinthine layout of the foreign city— if this had happened in the forests of their home, she would have been able to track the thieves down inside an afternoon. Wherever the kids had vanished to, they knew the city well enough to disappear. And to disappear fast. Libertus reached out to his contacts about it— the smaller fences, the other gangs giving them space to work, the corrupt officials still milling about waiting for a cut.

No one knew who the kids were, and it was agreed that they must be local. 

“Word around the markets is that your day didn’t go as planned,” Weskham had said by way of greeting, offering a glass of whatever amber liquid was on hand when Nyx could only offer a glare in response. “I suppose my services won’t be needed?”

“It’s just a delay.”

“An expensive delay, if I hear correctly.”

The others had scattered— to the little tables made from the old barrels, the tall chairs and stools pushed aside for ease until they were too tired of tipsy to stand— to lick their wounds and get the last meal they expected to have in the city. There had already been talk of cutting the trip short, of getting back home to their own territory, where hunting was just as viable an option to making their living when the tourist season ended and the beaches closed.

“It’s none of your business, anyway.”

“You’re right.” Weskham moved down the bar to serve a few newcomers, to check the trays being delivered by his staff before returning to where Nyx was sulking; “But while your inability to do your job is none of my business, I can only make suggestions that come from long years of working in the same field. Are you absolutely certain that you want to find those boys who upended your heist?”

The Maagho was a model of discretion— of the quiet movement and traffic needed to sustain the marketplace.It catered to thieves and served as the meeting house for the corrupts; where the deals better left off the books were made, and the floating markets that skirted the edges of the platform served as much of a barrier to the prying eyes of the outside world as a source of fresh ingredients. Weskham had never declared for any one gang that Nyx had known of, had never operated as a front or a dedicated fence to any particular group or family. He had never directly offered his help. 

“What’s it going to cost me?”

Help was never offered without a price. And Weskham was a very rich man.

“My boy, finding them might cost you more than you want to pay.” But the man slipped a business card across the bar and into Nyx’s line of sight— another bar buried in one of the upper levels of the city. One that was more popular, as far as Nyx had heard, with the kids in the city. It was quieter, legitimate, and served as an arcade where it was open air save for the way it was nestled at the base of some stairs and fenced into a corner of otherwise neglected space. “But I believe the young men you are looking for favour this particular establishment.”

“An arcade.”

“And cafe.”

“And you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Of course,” Nyx knew that particular smile. He knew when someone intended to call in a favour later on; “And do give your mother my regards when you’re back home.”

Left to his own devices while his friends drank, Nyx slipped from the Maagho as quietly as one could with the only easy way in and out being a gondola. From the station he got off at, it was easy enough to climb through the layers of the city. He had been in the gods forsaken floating monstrosity for just over a week now, and it was still so easy to get lost from the little apartment Pelna had found for them— the bed and breakfast that had promised an “authentic Altissian homestead” that really just meant that they were all crammed into one of the rented bedrooms while Pelna claimed the second for his equipment and tools. He had suggested they take in the Leville, or something on the main thoroughfare, along the brightly lit corridor of the shopping district— where the streets were perpetually lined with twinkling, decorative lights at night, and the atmosphere of a festival seemed to permanently hang in the air.

They could have made a killing letting Crowe pickpocket and charm her way into the purses and wallets of the marks stopping to gawk at the treasures for sale in every shop window. Or having Libertus play the good guy who makes off with an extra bag of some gift or another. They could have filled the shops with Pelna’s forgeries, settled on a corner with the hawkers and buskers and artists trying to make their way through the romantic city, and just spent the week fleecing the tourists with fakes and cons and tricks. Nyx knew that he should be on the lookout for new marks— something, anything, to not make the trip out to the ridiculous city a waste. Something to bring home and set aside, like he had planned. 

He knew that he shouldn’t have gone alone.

He should have had someone to watch his back, to go ahead and scout the place. He knew he should have had a plan before he went in. 

Slamming the kid against the brick wall by the pinball machines settled between the stone pillars was much more satisfying. 

The stairs always appeared to go nowhere and the little cafe was dim and cool— settled between the arches the same way the Maagho was, but with none of the intimacy. The tables and chairs were cheap for the city, the low fencing in lieu of an actual wall making it easy to spot his target before he was even at the bottom of the stone steps. He would know that kid anywhere now. 

The younger thief was at least twenty— old enough to know better, to be bolder and stupid, and to get caught so easily because of his own arrogance. The kid was bold enough to look back after a heist, Nyx felt no regret at the dazed look he earned as the wind was knocked from his target. There were rewards for boldness, and none of them were good. 

“Where is it?” His hand was still fisted in the kid’s shirt, holding him against the brickwork in the quiet cafe, as attention turned towards them. He tried to do the pat-down with his free hand, until the shine of metal in his peripheral caught his attention. Trembling in nervous hands while his own were occupied with pockets and folds. Nyx heard the click of a safety before he actually saw the shaking gun in the blond’s hands.

“Let go of him.” Despite the nervous grip, the other kid’s voice was level and flat; a real threat. A real promise behind the levelled look and the anxiety of a rookie not used to the weight in his hands. 

Nyx released his hold on his target, raised an eyebrow at the smirk to cross the kid’s features. He straightened and let his hands fall from the kid, took a step back. “A gun? Really?”

“He does that when some stranger tries to shove his hands into my clothes. It’s sweet.” The kid looked to his friend. “It’s fine, Prom, put it away.”

Before Nyx could relax, could step back to prove he was no immediate threat, there was a sharp, cold metal at his throat. A taller man had come up behind him, had slipped around him in the second it took for the blond kid to distract him, for his target to smirk. And now there was a knife at his throat and a deep voice at the cafe bar presumably calming the frightened barista. 

Nyx knew he should have brought back up. At least Crowe to count how many bastards the kid had with him, to go in first and watch from the shadows for until a proper plan could be formed. Or Libertus to throw some muscle around, to watch his back and keep blood from being shed. Or talk sense into the situation.

“Now, I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding,” the voice in his ear was familiar— the smooth Tenebrean accent and formal tones from the exhibit, clipped and cold; “but you may want to hurry up and explain why you have laid hands on Noctis.”

“You’re Noctis?” Nyx kept his hands in sight, his eyes trained on the kid he had slammed against the wall. He kept still and relaxed as he felt the knife shift with the man behind him, a hand searching him for weapons. As he was guided a few steps back by the gleaming metal at his throat. “Nice to meet you. You picked up a ring earlier today. It’s mine.”

“You threw it out a window.”

“Dropped it, subtly.”

“That was our plan.”

“That was a stupid plan.” 

“It worked, didn’t it?” 

The man with the Tenebrean accent relaxed slightly when it was obvious that Nyx wasn’t carrying any weapons within easy reach. When it was obvious that Nyx wasn’t poised for a fight. The immediate threat was lifted, and Nyx straightened his clothing. The sense of being boxed in— an easy target, all too easy to dispatch— settled in his mind. 

“So where is it?” Nyx tested his range of movements, feeling more than seeing the real threat— the Tenebrean man and the big guy coming over to see what the trouble was— track him as he took a step back from Noctis. “You couldn’t have moved it so fast.”

“What if I did?”

“Then you have better connections than I do, and that’s impossible.”

“I’m good with the impossible. The Ring is already moved.”

“Bullshit.”

The smirk was infuriating. The confidence unearned in Nyx’s opinion. “Want a coffee? My treat.” 

Nyx took the offer of a seat at the nearest table, the big guy keeping behind him as the Tenebrean man went to smooth things over with the staff by laying down money. The blond was the only one who didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, even as Noctis took the seat across the table as if he was sitting down to a business meeting, all straight backed confidence and control.

“Going to introduce yourself?” Noctis asked, hands folded on the table while they waited. 

“You first, kid.”

“Noctis Lucis Caelum. Wesky said to expect you.”

“Then you already know who I am.”

“Nyx Ulric, petty thief from the South Island of Galahd,” Noctis smirked at the indignant look Nyx couldn’t quite keep from his features. “And an idiot.”

“Says the kid who’s entire heist was to drop a priceless artifact out a window.”

“We had made preparations.”

“Sure you did,” the name finally caught up to Nyx— the familiarity of the features, the hair, the arrogance in the kid and the protection that came with an old name. With a name so old that it had its home country in it. “Wait, Caelum? Like the company in Insomnia? You’re far from home, little prince.”

“So’re you.”

It wasn’t the kid he needed to worry about. Nyx knew that name. Everyone knew that name. Somewhere, across the sea and in the biggest city Eos had ever seen, was a very powerful man who was far more terrifying than the kid sitting across from him now. No one met with the Caelums on bad terms and walked away clean. “I had reason to be. And why don’t I just get on with my little vacation and we can forget this ever happened?”

There was a snort of amusement from the big guy behind him, a quiet little smirk from the blond. And a latte was set down in front of Noctis, though he didn’t acknowledge it. Not until Nyx was already halfway out of his seat. Mafia and businesses and ancient families that could play and resist the controls of the Empire were well above his pay-grade. Nyx wanted out. 

Noctis nodded, “See you around, Ulric?”

“All due respect, kid,” Nyx retreated. There were other treasures to be stolen now; “fuck off.”


	3. Chapter 3

Nyx had known Crowe for years. He had known her to be careful and clever and articulate when she needed to be. He knew her to don any mask they needed for a job— from tipsy young lady stumbling as a lure, to highborn woman with a taste for flair glitter. He had watched her tease, cajole, and charm her way into mansions and Nif strongholds for years, to pick up any sort of role needed to get a job or distraction done. Like Libertus, she always had his back without being overconfident in her abilities or charms. She had never been caught— never accosted or stopped while on the job or in the midst of a character. 

“I’m so sorry about this,” she had never been caught before. Not like this. Nyx put an arm around her, his face the perfect picture of fear and sympathy; deference in the sight of the Nif authority standing before them. “My sis just gets a bit obsessed. There wasn’t any harm meant.”

Crowe was hunched over in his arms, costume and cover blown and tears ruining the makeup she had applied so carefully that morning. Between gasping sobs and trembling panic, she forced out apologies and pleas for leniency, promises that it would never happen again. That it was a mistake, that she was an overzealous fan of the celebrity whose room she had been caught inside. Nothing had been taken, after all. Nothing was missing. It was all just a mistake. 

The Nif officer who stood before them as they made their scene— concerned brother comforting a panicked little sister— glanced nervously at the crowd gathering to see the spectacle outside of the Leville. He was a rookie, Nyx could tell, it was why he rushed to Crowe’s side when he saw that the gig was up and their plans had to be adjusted from a grab to a recovery. Nyx knew that look of anxiousness, the nerves in front of the public gathering around them; the break in the usual routine of an easy guard post. The guard waved them on with a stern warning to never let it happen again and they scurried off, ducking down an alley that would connect to the avenue of bridges leading back to their little home base. 

“I’m going to kill that bastard,” Crowe shrugged him off as soon as they were out of the public eye, shoved him a few steps out of her personal space again as he tried to see if anyone was following their retreat. As soon as the heavy traffic of the main thoroughfare for the city— the pier and welcoming stations that lined the open bay— was behind them. She swiped at the mascara running down her cheeks and tried to catch her reflection in a window to fix everything, eyes already dry and the fear that had been there a moment ago gone. 

Nyx sat her down on a bench, and dipped the edge of his sleeve into the canal to clean her up, despite the glare she gave him. He followed the line of the ruined makeup until she swatted his hand away and the dampness of the sleeve. “Which one was it?”

“The ass from the exhibit,” mascara cleaned away, she unpinned her hair from the modern style that did not suit her in the least— it had been too decadent, and useless, heavy and off centred. It had thrown her off for the first few hours of their preparations, and she wasted no time in retying it back to her usual, messy bun instead. “He was posing as a Leville butler and got me booted out. I almost had it!”

“The one with glasses, right? Looks like he has a stick up his ass.”

“That’s the one,” Crowe grabbed the bag Nyx was carrying, rummaging through until she found the change of clothes they had carried for the escape. She carried them like a shield as they started moving again, in search of a cafe or store where she could duck into the bathroom. A hard right across one of the many bridges and down another alley, parallel to the welcoming station that lined the busy bay, and the crowd started to thin out. The bistro across the from Maagho was the quietest, the platform beneath the stone arches dim and empty save for the merchants getting ready. “I’m going to kill him.”

The plan had been simple— they had pulled it off a thousand times before back home, in state houses and mansions and whatever hotels didn’t recognise them on sight. There was a singer in Altissia, coming in for a show and a bit of high profile shopping; a big name from some small Lucian town that had moved to the wastes of Niflheim. They had eyes on her from the moment she stepped off the ferry into town, Pelna tracking her to see where the entourage had disappeared to, and how often. There had been the idea of playing the fan to get close enough to swipe a bag, or purse. But then they found out which room she was in. 

The Leville uniform was easy for Libertus to get. He had found the basics of it in some consignment shop on the lower levels of the labyrinth and put it together with whatever was lifted or bought by the hotel staff struggling by on minimum wage and tips. The idea was an easy one; Crowe goes in as staff while the entourage was away and picks up whatever is shiny and not nailed down. Or locked in the safe. Five, ten minutes at most to clear the room. 

Five minutes to get in and out, ten if there was something to hide. 

It had always been a solid plan. 

Crowe ducked into the bistro with her change of clothes as Nyx settled at one of the cheap tables to wait. The Maagho across from him was dim during these hours— the usual soft light muted and the platform empty as the merchants and staff prepared for the evening. They had started to gather information now that they knew what to look for; Pelna had pulled together as much as he could on the Caelum brat in the hopes that they would find some reason for his visit to Altissia. Instead, all they had was a new handful of trouble on their heels, culminating this time in Crowe nearly getting more than just a kick out a door by a rookie Nif. If they weren’t careful, there could be some real trouble soon. 

“You don’t seem like the sort of man to get lost in thought.”

“Fuck off, Caelum.”

He wished he could say that Noctis’ appearance at the table was something he had expected. His mother had always said that thinking of a disaster would bring it. And this brat was his own personal curse. 

But he hadn’t noticed the kid’s approach. Despite the dark colours the kid favoured, or the heavy step of the big guy pretending to be his shadow. Despite the quiet of the little strip of stone walkway. 

“They don’t have manners in Galahd?” Noctis said, pulling the plastic chair opposite Nyx from the table. 

“Fuck off is not an invitation to sit down, you know.”

“I just want to talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

“What about a business proposal?”


End file.
